PS 

11/6 




By Lewis Worthington Smith 




Class "PS-^S-^? 
Book -1^0 61 4 7 

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CDFSIIGHT DEPOSm 



IN SUNDAY'S TENT 



By Lewis Worthington Smith 
THE ENGLISH TONGUE 
SHIPS IN PORT 



IN SUNDAY'S TENT 



BY 



LEWIS WORTHINGTON SMITH 



n 




Boston 
The Four Seas Company 
1916 






Copyright, ipi6, by 

THE FOUR SEAS COMPANY 



APR -5 1318 

THE FOUR SEAS PRESS 
BOSTON MASS. U.S. A. 

©CLA494460 



FOREWORD 

TO REV. WILLIAM A. SUNDAY 

Compassion is, I take it, of the very essence of the 
religion of Jesus, the compassion of fellowship, not 
that of a pitying charity. It is this that constitutes its 
regenerative force, the coming to earth, not of God, but 
of the God-man. So deeply is the religious feeding 
rooted in our human limitations and our human needs 
that it can not reach its best expression apart from a 
warm flowering out of human sympathy. At its heart 
there glows an impulse to help the poor, the unfor- 
tunate, the fallen, to assume a generous responsibility, 
and so to reach the humanly divine. This is the justi- 
fication for the statement of Jesus that "joy is in hea- 
ven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over 
ninety and nine just persons, which need no repen- 
tance." It was in this spirit that he declared himself 
a "friend of publicans and sinners." 

I only hope that you may see in the following story 

the throb of that universal sympathy and tenderness 

for mortal failure and incompleteness that is the voice 

of the Master, calling men, even though their sins be as 

scarlet, in Sunday's tent. 

L. s. w. 



IN SUNDAY'S TENT 



"Love is the fulfilling of the law." 
Romans 13: 10. 

"Whosoever shall seek to save his life shall lose it; and 
whosoever shall lose his life shall preserve it." 

Luke 17: 33. 



IN SUNDAY'S TENT 

'Twas Bess that took the fancy first 
And rolled the word out in a burst 
Of mocking laughter. "Why not go 
Down to Bill Sunday's gospel show? 
I'm sort of restless, and — it's strange — 
But why not hymn tunes for a change?" 

We jeered at first, but fun was slow, 
And Bess was sure we ought to go 
To hear *em shout and sing and pray, 
And down we went. The dying day 
Flung up red signals in the west. 
I cared as little as the rest. 



We got good seats in the second row 
And sat there sniggering. Fern and Joe 

[II] 



In Sunday's Tent 

Were bent to leave at the first good lick 
Of Sunday's brimstone-smeared hell-stick. 
But Bess's eyes were blazing bright. 
I knew she'd stay it through all right. 



The choir came in, a storm of sound. 
Young girls with faces ringlet-bound. 
Their elder sisters, blaze on blaze 
Of pure-eyed beauty voicing praise. 
Bess turned on me. *T wish I knew 
What thing I've done is peeving you." 



"I who have sinned and gone astray, 
I am thy sheep. To Thee I pray. 
Give me thy voice that I may know 
The narrow path that I must go." 



Pern leaned across. "Now, Dave," she said, 
""Don't let this stuff go to your head." 

[12] 



In Sunday's Tent 

I laughed, and then a blazing tongue 
Out of the ver>' platform sprung. 
A pointing finger, and I heard, 
Not some one speaking, but the Word. 
A leaping passion, and I saw 
The flaming letters of God's law. 



Fern showed me once a white, scared face, 

And then a torture of grimace. 

Joe sat and tried to smile and seem 

Half weary of a fairy dream, 

But Bess drew tight her kiss-crushed lips ; 

I felt the hardening of her hips. 

Then by and by a trombone spoke. 
Upborne from hell's black-rolling smoke, 
As soft and sweet as if a child 
Were sleeping where his mother smiled 
And sang beneath an arch of trees 
Watching his curls lift in the breeze. 

1 13] 



In Sunday's Tent 

A hush came down, so deep, so wide, 
My soul could find no place to hide, 
But stared for all the world to see. 
While all the devils danced with glee. 
I knew Bess clutched her hands, and then 
We heard the singing hearts of men. 

Out of the sins that have robed you in scarlet. 

Your God is calling you. 
Out of the toils that are spread by the harlot. 
Your God is calling you. 
Welcomes are greeting you. 
Friends will be meeting you; 

Their hearts are calling you. 
Faith is before you yet. 
Love shall restore you yet; 

The Christ is calling you. 

Come, come; take up your load. 

It is only a little. way home. 
Come, come; keep to the road. 

It is only a little way home. 

[14] 



In Sunday's Tent 

Out of the earth-murk that darkens about yon. 

Your God is calling you. 
Out of the license and laughter that flout you. 
Your God is calling you. 
Visions of portals bright 
Break on your mortal sights- 
Death's gates are calling you. 
God's pardon waits you yet, 
He reinstates you yet; 

His love is calling you. 

Come, come; take up your load. 

It is only a little way home. 
Come, come; keep to the road. 

It is only a little way home. 

The music died. I sat like one 
Who sees a hand across the sun 
And feels his very heart at grips 
With some wild terror of eclipse. 
I kept my seat while hundreds rose, 
One hand in Bess's till the close. 

[IS] 



In Sunday's Tent 

But after that, when back we went 
To take our pleasure, pay our rent 
For one night's housing more, it seemed 
Only a thing that I had dreamed. 
I paused uncertain. Joe went in, 
But we two trembled with our sin. 



I saw her burning eye and knew 

Bess wanted me the whole night through^ 

Not for the old-time panic joy 

Of passions that forever cloy. 

But in a need for some one near 

To shut her up against her fear. 



That was at first. I think next day 

I partly laughed it all away, 

But when again the great sun drew 

Her scarlet curtain from the blue, 

I stood and watched the people pour 

By hundreds through the big tent 4q9X- 

[i6] 



In Sunday's Tent 

At last I went inside, alone, 

One moment flame, another stone. 

"I who have sinned and gone astray, 

*I am Thy sheep,' " I dared to pray 

Once in my heart, and then, teeth clenched, 

No more that night I thrilled or blenched. 



Next morning as I went to work 

Fern met me with a mocking smirk. 

"I am Thy sheep," she laughed, and flung 

Her head, derisive as her tongue. 

"And Bess is some one's sheep, I think. 

Bill Sunday's put her on the blink." 



"Poor Bess," I thought, and all day long 
I saw her with a ribald song 
Twisting her lips, and then it seemed 
She was a girl again and dreamed 
Of simple household comradeships, 
A husband's arms, a baby's lips. 

[•7] 



In Sunday's Tent 

And all day long I said : No more 
Shall I pass through that cavernous door,- 
But Bess somehow was calling me. 
We tried the streets with all their free 
Bubble and din of light and sound. 
But even there God closed us round. 



She did not tell me, but I knew 

The place her thoughts were travelling to. 

I did not ask her, but we went 

Once more to Billy Sunday's tent. 

Fearful as children, down we sank 

Far in the sinners* outer rank. 



That moment as the trombone spoke 

A thousand throats in song outbroke. 

A childish treble near us soared 

Up to the throne where saints adored — 

A sound like waters loosed in spring 

And leaves and winds and birds a-wing. 

[i8] 



In Sunday's Tent 

/ shall take to the road to glory 
When my sins are rolled away. 
Rolled away, rolled away. 
I shall tell the blessed story 
To the thirsting every day, 
Every day, every day. 
Take my hand and come with me. 
Drop your load and travel free. 
We shall wander through the meadows in the presence 

of the King. 
We shall join the triumph- chorus where the ransomed 
angels sing. 
We shall walk the streets of gold. 
Find our Father's palace-fold, 
In the day our sins fall from us, by and by. 

By and by. 
Saved and loved in God's forever, by and by. 

An hour we sat there, swayed and stung 
By lashings of a maddened tongue, 
Crying the wrath that peoples hell, 

[19] 



In Sunday's Tent 

Telling of love whose whispers swell 
To paeaned rapture where God's own 
Are gathered by his crystal throne. 



That night we fought the inner leap 
Of new-old promptings roused from sleep, 
And fought a woman and her prayers 
Who urged us toward the altar stairs. 
We kept ourselves, our sins, our pride, — 
And then God followed us outside. 



There on the street beyond the songs, 
"What shall we do?" I asked. "The wrongs 
You've suffered aren't the things I've done, 
But they're alike ; we'll call them one. 
Why should we not so much repair 
And take each other, foul or fair?" 

Bess turned on me a blinding flash, 

A flame that I had thought but aSh. 

[20] 



In Sunday's Tent 

*'You never flung me like a weed 

You thought a flower and plucked. I need 

Some one to show me how to kill — 

Not you — not you" "But some one still, 



*'And there are others who for me 

Are just the thing that you must be 

Always — perhaps — " "Find them," she said. 

"What in the devil ails your head? 

I'm no one's penance. I choose hell 

Rather than being tied, a bell 

"About your neck to ring and toll 
And cry out mercy for your soul. 
Find them, not me. Fm easy — near, 
You'd like to get your title clear 
Without a lot of taking care- 
Damned much you bother how I fare !" 



"Find them !" The burning taunt was this,- 

[21] 



In Sunday's Tent 

Day after day, my Judas kiss, 
The kiss with which I once betrayed, 
Not Bess, but others who had made 
My primrose path a flying flame 
Of wanton pleasure red with shame. 



Round, round I went in that mad track, 
Trying to put my wrong world back 
Into the right, and every turn 
Seeing how vainly I should bum 
With penitence. My sin was fixed 
In those lost lives with which it mixed. 



Round, round I went. My feet were mired. 
Like some poor bird whose wings are tired 
With beating over leagues of sea, 
I found no place for resting free. 
Jennie and Sue and Kate, — they came. 
Haggard and wild, and cried my name. 

I 22] 



In Sunday's Tent 

Night after night the same fierce moil 
Of baffled penance kept its coil 
About my feet. I felt the whips 
Of mad remorse, and yet my lips 
Refused the supplicating cry. 
My sins were mine and would not die. 



"Jennie," my heart cried and I clung 
To those dear tremblings of her tongue 
When twilight loosed her silver zone 
And made her hair a cloud-drift, blown 
Against that peace we call the sky, 
Within whose depths the star-flames lie. 



So deep, so far ! and she had passed 

Out to that deep so dark and vast. 

Gone, gone ! and could I never know 

How she had braved the undertow? 

Gone, gone ! and could I never tell 

What earth she walked, what heaven or hell? 

[23] 



In Sunday's Tent 

"Jennie/' my heart cried, "just once more 
To see the rose beside your door ! 
To feel you nestle close and warm 
Under its shaken petal storm 
As once — ah, God, if you could be 
Again a very part of me f 



"If I could kiss you till you smiled, 

My own once more, all tmdefiled, — " 

And then I stopped. My cheeks were caught 

In terror's dragnet. Others bought 

What I had flung their way, no doubt,— 

What I had dared to love and flout. 



God's pity on me ! Sweet, how sweet 
Had been one moment at her feet. 
Watching the river mist rise, slow. 
Beyond the silver-poplar row. 
Where once we walked before we knew 
The miry road we travelled to. 

[24] 



In Sunday's Tent 

God's pity on me ! Now no more 
To feel her hand-clasp, all her store 
Of gentle trust forever tossed 
Into the lake where burn the lost. 
Grod's pity now could never reach 
The length to bring us each to each. 



God could not make her mine, if still 

She lived and kept her path of ill. 

What help could be? What hope could come 

From lips that flamed, or trembled dumb ? 

Could any high forgiveness purge 

Her soul and body with its urge ? 

Night after night, more dull and spent, 
I took the road to Sunday's tent, 
That seemed at times a gate to hell ; 
And then I saw her. On the swell 
Of that miraculous leap of good, 
I rushed and found her where she stood. 

[25] 



In Sunday's Tent 

"Jennie," I said, — the workers ran 
From aisle to aisle as I began — 
"God answers prayer. My prayer was you, 
And here you are. Should not w^e two 
Be what we were and find life sweet, 
We two together at Christ's feet ?" 

I watched her face. At first a daize 
Clouded her eyes, and then amaze 
Became the scourging sense of wrong 
That must have been her morning song 
Day after day. She drove me back 
With eyes of lightning rolled in wrack. 



I watched and saw the thousands pour 
Out to the night. Then to her door 
I tracked her, made her let me in 
Against her will. I saw how thin 
Her cheeks were, how her eyes had sunk 
Out of the glow that made me drunk. 

[26] 



In Sunday's Tent 

"Jennie," I said at last, "I stand 

And beg God's mercy from your hand. 

My sins are torments night and day 

That only you can take away. 

Come with me now and let us go 

1 he path our day-dreams used to know,' 



I waited, but her lips drew tight. 
"We lived one lie. To make it right 
Will living two suffice?" she asked. 
"W^ith saving you must I be tasked, 
Losing myself once more to make 
This mad world pleasant for your sake ?" 



I never begged a lover's kiss 
And felt what passion was till this. 
The madness that, in brain and soul. 
Knew now the good to make me whole, 
Her hand in mine, as once we went, 
Together proving love's intent. 

[27] 



In Sunday's Tent 

I could not know she heard, her eyes 
So pledged themselves to other skies 
Or other stars or other deeps 
Of madness where black memory weeps. 
My words were like blown chaff, and fell 
Where not a seed could burst or swell. 



T think it was the very strength 
Of her refusal that at length 
Made me forget myself in her, 
Seeeing how deep her miseries were. 
Then through my pity's yearning flush, 
The old, old love came in a rush. 



"Poor girl, poor girl," I cried, and warm 
I felt my blood leap. From the storm 
I burned to take her, shield her, make 
Some isle of peace in a great lake 
Where we might see the world and yet 
Care nothing for its noise and fret. 

[28] 



In Sunday^s Tent 

That night the sky blew istorm. I went 
And tried to find her in the tent. 
She was not there. An hour I turned 
Up this street and down that, and yearned 
To shut her up, despite her will, 
From all the world's great reek of ill. 



That was an hour of hours. I knew 
How Christ had loved, what love could do 
To lift the fallen, bring the sun 
Down to the nooks where fear crouched dun, 
Palsied, and dust-begrimed, — to spend 
Its strength for weakness, without end. 



The furies swept me, but at last. 
Seeking her door, I found it fast. 
I rang, but only silence came 
And then the echoes of her name. 
Because I called and called. No light 
Flashed from her window on the night. 

[29] 



In Sunday's Tent 

Long sleepless hours! And then I walked 
Madly a country highway, balked 
Of every hope. Beside a brook 
A boy sat dreaming with a book. 
A fresh young girl in white and blue 
Sang where her ferns and asters grew. 

The very innocence of earth 

Was my rebuke. My way of dearth 

Need not have been. I loved, that hour, 

The boy, the girl, the gathered flower; 

But I could only look and stand. 

An outcast near the promised land. 

Deep in the woods, I flung myself 
Down on a narrow rocky shelf 
And heard the water sing below, 
A tranquil, happy, loitering flow. 
Finding each moment as it went 
The tremor of a high content 

[30] 



In Sunday's Tent 

Just once to make the fancy real, 
The old truth back again, to feel 
The April wind that tossed her hair, 
To know her heart had no more care 
Than when our hands together drew 
The violet from its bed of dew ! 



I saw her so, a step that sprang 

Out of the grass, a voice that rang 

Bird-clear, — and then my old desire 

Felt the hot urging of new fire. 

Gone, gone, — her cheeks, her eyes, her lips,- 

Gone like the sails of sunken ships. 



God's pity on me ! Nothing now 
Could light her face or clear her brow. 
I rose and stumbled, slipped and fell, 
Blinded in all the murk of hell. 
And then I hurried, tired and spent, 
And came at last to Sunday's tent. 

f3i] 



In Sunday's Tent 

put of the sins that have robed you in scarlet. 

Your God is calling you. 
Out of the toils that are spread by the harlot. 
Your God is calling you. 
Welcomes are greeting you, 
Friends will be meeting you; 

Their hearts are calling you. 
Faith is before you yet; 
Love shall restore you yet; 

The Christ is calling you. 

Come, come; take up your load. 

It is only a little way home. 
Come, come; keep to the road. 

It is only a little way home. 

The song died down, and Sunday swept 

A last appeal to those that slept. 

The workers watched flushed cheeks grow pale 

And sought them for the sawdust trail. 

Now here, now there, a sinner rose 

And cried God's mercy on his woes. 

[ 32 ] 



In Sunday's Tent 

Again the choir was like one voice, 
Urging the wayward heart its choice. 

Come, come; take up your load. 

It is only a little way home. 
Come, come; keep to the road. 

It is only a little way home. 

And then — her face ! I stood, one flame. 

'Twas Jennie calling on his name. 

Saved ! Was she saved ? The earth spun round 

And wrapped my soul in rings of sound. 

The pathway to God's mercy seat 

Was white-robed fire past Sunday's feet. 

The song was softened candle-light 
Cheering a dark and stormy night. 

Come, come; take up your load. 

It is only a little way home. 
Come, come; keep to the road. 

It is only a little way home. 

[33] 



In Sunday's Tent 

I rose to heaven and dropped to hell 
Before God drew her in the spell 
Of love's last triumph. Then I ran 
And stood beside her. God in man 
As I confessed and made her mine, 
Made me a burst of love divine. 

And now the chant rose loud and clear, 
Sweeping away all mortal fear : 

Come, come, keep to the road. 
It is only a little way home. 

Home, home, again! We kneeled to pray. 
And turned our faces to the Day ! 



[34] 



